


For Freedom

by Whoreofaneboy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dreambur, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Lemon, M/M, Manipulation, NSFW, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Read at Your Own Risk, Smut, Spit As Lube, War theme, Wildream, dream team, dteam - Freeform, dteam smp, dubcon, maybe? - Freeform, mcyt - Freeform, minecraft youtubers - Freeform, not for the feint of heart, okay it’s very questionable, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, smp war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25926907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoreofaneboy/pseuds/Whoreofaneboy
Summary: [Disclaimer: Applicable to all of my in-progress works] This fic is indefinitely discontinued, and it is extremely unlikely that I will be updating it again, though I may continue to post short things/oneshots.Though I appreciate the comments I receive asking about updates or enjoying my/this work, do not expect updates.————The War has been going on for far too long, and Wilbur is tired. He finally agrees to a private conference with Dream, to discuss full independence for L’Manburg, and he’s willing to do anything to get it. Anything.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 98
Kudos: 873





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sorry.

The place Dream had asked him to meet was too small, informal. It seemed like an office space, a broad wooden desk, only one small window, bookshelves, maps and charts on the walls. They were too far away from L’Manburg and anywhere within the SMP that Wilbur recognized. 

Dream was eyeing him from across the room as he crossed the threshold. His dirty blond hair was pushed haphazardly back from his brow, and his mask was abandoned on the desk. He sat in a worn out, high backed leather chair, long legs crossed, falling off the arm rest. He looked entirely too casual, apart from the six inch steel blade glinting in his hands.

“Good evening,” Wilbur greeted, stance awkward as he stood just inside the room, eyes flicking to the solitary window. Dull orange light leaked in, as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, making Wilbur feel well and truly alone in this room, though Dream was a presence, he was no comfort. The way he intimidated, and the way he dissected Wilbur with his piercing gaze sparked unease.

“You should hope,” Dream said, ignoring pleasantries as he sheathed the knife. He swung his legs down, hopping to his feet and crossing the small space in too short a time. Dream’s steps were too even, smooth and effortless, leaving him just a foot away from the enemy General. He stood tall, still a bit shorter than Wilbur, but he seemed so much bigger. The way he occupied the space in the room, his relaxed posture, and set expression of intention and curiosity.

Wilbur set his face to neutrality, “I want to discuss your terms for independence.” He wouldn’t let himself be cowed into submission by those eyes. He was here, as the leader of his country, on equal terms with Dream, to get the freedom L’Manburg deserved.

“Of course,” Dream, said calmly, “I have some ideas. It all depends on what you’re willing to do, Wilbur.” It wasn’t a question.  _ Anything _ , Wilbur thought _ , there’s nothing I won’t do for my country . _

“Tell me more,” Wilbur requested, forcing himself not to sound overzealous. But if Dream would honor him a chance at geniune freedom he would be a fool not to take it. It was everything he’d worked for, fought for, prepared for. After Eret’s betrayal he’d been forced to humble himself to a half-assed peace treaty, but now the suffering of L’Manburg could come to fruition.

Dream crossed the small distance between them, his hand snaking under Wilbur’s blue coat, resting just above his belt. A sudden cold crept up his spine, and his whole body froze. His feet were rooted to the spot. He looked into Dream’s eyes, and his heart began to beat faster as he saw the (intent) glistening in them. An intent not of violence or malice, one he’d ever expected to see in Dream.  _ Lust. _

__ The corner of his mouth was tugged upward, as he moved ever closer, so close. One small movement, and their lips would be touching. 

“Wilbur,” he said lowly, “you’re smart, smart enough to know you don’t get anything for free.” Dream’s other hand came to rest on his waist as well, crumpling the white fabric of his tunic. “Especially not in a war, you need to negotiate.” His voice was simply dripping with intention now. Wilbur wanted to step back, but Dream’s hold on him was firm, unrelenting.

“I,” Wilbur started, “I understand.” He felt vulnerable, gentle heat spreading from his chest and neck to his face. What kind of fucked up negotiation was this? Was Wilbur really willing to do anything Dream asked of him? It seemed like Dream wanted more than he was willing to give. “And do I have anything to negotiate with?” Wilbur asked tentatively.

“You do,” Dream assured. “No money, no land, or resources, but something else I want.” 

Wilbur’s face was fully flushed now, eyes wide with a mix of fear and anticipation. “And what would that be?” He inquired, fingers twitching nervously at his sides.

Dream’s lips parted, and he licked them quickly before continuing, “your body.” The grip he had on the other tightened, and he pulled Wilbur flush against him. Wilbur made an effort to pull his chest and shoulders back, eager to maintain any kind of distance. Dream’s smile was akin to that of the Cheshire Cat, overtly wide, mistrustworthy.

Wilbur looked down at where they were connected, Dream’s bony hips pressed against his own.  _ My body for my country , _ he thought.  _ Is it a trade I’m willing to make?  _ Just once, would it be worth the humiliation? For freedom, and victory?

“I don’t know if I can do that.” Wilbur met Dream’s eyes with hesitation in his own. He’d never been with a man, much less the enemy of his country. This was far too intimate for a war. But it was his only option, Dream had shown his battle strength again and again, and L’Manburg couldn’t compete with it.

“How disappointed would they be?” Dream asked, knowing how easily he could strike a nerve with Wilbur. “Think of little Tommy, or Tubbo. Don’t you want to give them their freedom? They did so much for you.”

Wilbur gritted his teeth, guilt rising like water inside of him. “I know.”

“Don’t be selfish,” Dream continued, “they took arrows for you, for their country, this is the least you can do for them.” And he was right, so right it hurt. Wilbur was selfish, one night with Dream was nothing compared to the sacrifices his government had made.

Wilbur finally relented.

“You can have me,” he agreed. “I’ll do whatever it takes for freedom.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. To Pay What is Owed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could feel the warmth of Dream’s breath, gentle, yet erratic like that of a rabid animal. His grip on Wilbur grew impossibly tighter, body close, pressure against his backside incessant and unbearable. He wouldn’t pull back, instead pushing wilbur face-down against the wooden desk. He grunted, the force almost knocking the wind out of him, pain leaving his eyes shining with tears that he refused to let flow.
> 
> “I wish you could understand how special this is,” Dream said lowly, leaning over Wilbur. They were pressed flat together from neck to knees, and Dream’s body was a cage, the prison he would serve out his sentence in. And he would do it, he would do this for his country, and for his own foolish pride. He couldn’t let Dream win this war. “How long I’ve wanted to do this for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been an absolute monster and life keeps getting in the way. I’m so sorry it took so long but I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> And if you’re curious and into this sort of stuff....
> 
> https://discord.gg/AzcYxnav6j
> 
> Come check out my discord! It’s got a fun medieval theme and is very nsfw supportive!

_ How did I end up here?  _ Wilbur wondered. How badly had he failed his country, to lower himself to such a fate for their benefit? His eyes were damp, stinging from the shame and embarrassment. But he knew, deep within he owned L’Manburg so much. Tommy, Fundy, Tubbo, they were so innocent, so hardworking. They’d gone through so much in this war. He couldn’t face them until Dream agreed to offer real freedom.

The other’s lips pressed firm to his, in what was less of a kiss than a declaration of control. Wilbur’s arms stayed above his head, wrists encircled tightly by Dream’s hands, and his back was on equal terms with the heavy wooden wall behind him. He had nothing to say, nothing to do as he let himself go slack. Dream pushed his hips up against Wilbur, used his whole body to restrain him against that wall.

There was a press of something hard against his hips that made his eyes go wide. Then Dream was pulling away, releasing Wilbur’s wrists to wipe his mouth. He was panting, grinning like a madman, and then leaning in close again. But this time he grabbed Wilbur by the hair, fingers tangling in the curls on his head, and tugging him violently off the wall like an object from a shelf, something he’d had on display especially for himself.

Dream led him over to the desk, other hand sliding down to his hip, grip once again firm as he pressed him straight up against the wood. The angle of the desk was sharp and the press of Dream’s hips against him from behind was hard. It hurts, and Wilbur knew it was certain to leave a bruise, but he gritted his teeth and bared the pain, Dream’s fingers still tugging at his hair. 

He could feel the warmth of Dream’s breath, gentle, yet erratic like that of a rabid animal. His grip on Wilbur grew impossibly tighter, body close, pressure against his backside incessant and unbearable. He wouldn’t pull back, instead pushing wilbur face-down against the wooden desk. He grunted, the force almost knocking the wind out of him, pain leaving his eyes shining with tears that he refused to let flow.

“I wish you could understand how special this is,” Dream said lowly, leaning over Wilbur. They were pressed flat together from neck to knees, and Dream’s body was a cage, the prison he would serve out his sentence in. And he would do it, he would do this for his country, and for his own foolish pride. He couldn’t let Dream win this war. “How long I’ve wanted to do this for.”

“Just get it over with,” Wilbur ground out. “His voice was low and bitter with tinges of irritation. “And leave L’Manburg alone.” He was already exhausted from Dream’s assault, and he didn’t know how much more it would take before he lost his mind. Every place of his hands on Wilbur’s body was invasive and unwelcome, violating in a deeper way than it ever should have been.

Dream’s nimble fingers made light work of slipping under Wilbur’s coat and vest, finding the place where his shirt was tucked into his trousers. Gingerly, he began untucking it, and Wilbur felt the fabric sliding against his skin.

“Oh, Wilbur,” Dream cooed, “this isn’t even close to over.” He untucked the shirt completely, and then his fingers were slipping completely underneath, bunching the fabric as he rubbed slow circles on Wilbur’s waist. Nausea rose rapidly inside him as Dream’s hands dared to raise higher, cringing at the intimacy of touch, and the implication of his words.

“Why do you have to make this worse?” Wilbur muttered, feeling too heavy now.

“This is the price you were willing to pay.” Dream leaned harder into Wilbur, his chest pressing into the other’s back with a force that pushed him so far into the desk he was nearly wheezing. “And you’re going to pay it.”

Wilbur made an embarrassing noise, almost a whimper, wheezy and throaty and afraid. He had no right to be afraid, he’d chosen this.  _ You chose this because you don’t have a choice _ , he reminded himself. The tears welling up in his eyes finally spilled over, leaking all over a face reddened by humiliation.

He was pathetic, pained by the feeling of Dream’s body weighing on him, the bones of his hips, his one hand still tugging at Wilbur’s hair. His other hand still circled Wilbur’s skin, gently, slowly. It was almost nothing but it was so overwhelming, so jarring.

“Please,” he wheezed, “have mercy.”

“We’re at war,” Dream rasped, “there is no mercy, not from me.” Then he was taking a step back, the weight on Wilbur suddenly lifted. He was shaking with temporary relief as he kept his head down. He felt Dream’s fingers at the base of his neck, bunching in the fabric of his coat, slowly peeling it off of him. Then he was being pulled by his hair again, standing straight up so Dream could undo the buttons on his waistcoat.

Wilbur didn’t dare look back as Dream moved torturously slow, fingers snaking under the collar, creasing the starched shirt underneath, gently tapping Wilbur’s collarbones. Dream hummed to himself, a devious little tune, barely audible over the sound of Wilbur’s heartbeat thudding in his ears. One button, two buttons, three buttons, four. The movements were deliberate, and then the garment was on the floor.

“Turn around,” Dream ordered. Wilbur hesitated, embarrassed by the state of himself, not wanting Dream to see his face. He knew this would be easier if he never had to look him in the eye.

“What?” Wilbur croaked.

“Turn. Around.” Dream leaned in closer, releasing his grip on Wilbur’s hair, and he could feel the heat coming off of him. “I want to see you.

Wilbur swallowed, shaking his head. “I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to make this worse.”

“Did I ask?” Wilbur said nothing, and Dream took his silence as an answer. “That’s right, I didn’t.” Wilbur’s jaw clenched tightly as he tried to steel himself. But he obeyed, turning around, eyes aimed down at the floor. “Look at me.” He did, anger and exhaustion in his eyes he glared at Dream. 

“I’m only doing this for my country.” Wilbur said bitterly, pulling his shoulders back, attempting to emphasize his height. But Dream was unfazed. He smiled lazily, green eyes lidded, the look in them predatory as he placed a hand on Wilbur’s chest. He got close again, so close, too close. Shame burned in Wilbur’s face, and had him hot under the collar of his shirt. Dream's fingers wrinkled the white tunic, and he circled the top button slowly.

“You’re here because you’re weak,” he hissed, “pathetic. You couldn’t fight me, couldn’t offer me anything of value.” His voice softened, “It’s okay though, you still have something I want, and I’m going to get it.” He undid the top button of Wilbur’s shirt, smiling broadly. “You just have to be good for me, and you’ll get your sweet freedom, maybe.”

“That’s not fair,” Wilbur protested, panic overwhelming him, “you said-”

“And now I’m saying,” Dream cut him off, undoing the second button, then the third, “that I expect you treat this as the opportunity it is.” Four buttons were undone. “Unless you want to crawl back home, fucked out, with nothing to offer to your little friends, no hope, no bargain.” Wilbur’s eyes were glassy, shining with tears once more, as he questioned himself, guilt unbearable. Perhaps this wasn’t worth it, how much of this could he really handle?

But again, he thought of his friends, each of them would be willing to do  _ anything _ for freedom, and he’d sworn the same when he left for this meeting. It would be wrong of him to give up now, shameful, well and truly pathetic. 

Wilbur looked Dream dead in the eyes, knowing there was nothing he could do to hide the sadness in his own as he spoke, voice shaky but firm, “I’ll do whatever it takes.” The satisfaction in Dream’s face was unbearable.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He popped open the fifth button, a long triangle of Wilbur’s pale skin now visible, then the sixth was open. Wilbur was trembling, the way Dream’s gaze lingered, violating in an impossible way. Two more buttons, the softly rustle of fabric and a snap.  _ One more button _ . Then Wilbur’s shirt was cast onto the floor. Too much of him was exposed to open air, and Dream’s hungry eyes.

Dream kissed him again, and it was so wrong this time. Like Dream’s lips were bitter poison, and his hands were cold fire on Wilbur’s bare skin, tracing, stroking and teasing. What was meant to be intimate was heart-wrenching instead, and Wilbur let himself go slack. His heavy eyes fell closed, a single tear rolling slowly down his cheek as Dream was unrelenting and the kiss became all tongue and teeth.

His hands slid down to rest just above the waistband of Wilbur’s trousers, gently brushing the fabric. He pulled him closer, moving, pushing his hips forward at the same time. Their bodies pressed firm together and Wilbur gasped softly, unconsciously, feeling the physical evidence of Dream’s desire rubbing up against him. The sensation was sickening, alarming, driving home the severity, the realness of the situation he was in.

Wilbur's own body responded to Dream’s touch in a way that was embarrassingly unavoidable. Mercifully, Dream’s lips separated from his, leaving both of them panting, Wilbur’s eyes still shut as the other’s mouth migrated down to his throat. The warmth of his rapid exhalation was apparent on Wilbur’s skin, but he never paused. He hummed as he went, warm tongue leaving a damp trail on Wilbur’s neck and jaw. 

A feeble whimper came from Wilbur as Dream’s teeth pinched his throat, lips creating suction and drawing out a sharp, peculiar pain. And he was being pressed into the desk again, the sharp angle of the lip digging into his lower back as Dream rolled his hips forward. It was entrapping and genuinely painful, and Wilbur desperately wanted it to be over. He hated the way he felt, how shameful this bargaining was.

To die in battle, to take a sword to the heart was an honorable death, a clean pain that would be over quickly. This was different, it was so much worse, so slow and so violating. Wilbur was stuck in this moment, stuck in every sensation introduced to him. He’d never been  _ touched _ before, not in this way, and after this was over he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to bring himself to want it. Surely Dream knew, it was his way of taking something Wilbur could never get back, something almost as devastating as his life.

Dream rolled his hips forward, more aggressively this time, and Wilbur’s eyes were filling with tears again. It was all fear and pain and shame, things he shouldn’t be, didn’t have a right to be feeling. Dream’s bit at his neck again, with nearly enough force to make him bleed, strong enough to leave a bruise where his shirt would just barely have been covering it. Wilbur had to fight now to whimper from the pain this time, but he didn’t want to give Dream the satisfaction.

“You’re so quiet, Will,” Dream whispered, hot puffs of breath against his skin. “I don’t think I like that.” His tone was low but there was a threat there, one Wilbur knew was dangerous to ignore. His eyes squeezed closed tighter, and Dream’s hips pressed harder into his. The friction of Dream’s arousal against him was almost painful now. His whole body felt too sensitive, trousers too tight. He heard the tone in Dream’s voice and let his lips fall open in the softest moan, but it was just barely of his own volition. “Good boy,” Dream said softly.

  
  


“Dream,” Wilbur muttered, aching for this to be over, no matter what that might mean, “please.” He hated the way his voice sounded.

“Please, what?” Dream inquired, pulling away from Wilbur’s neck. Dream took his chin in one hand, grip firm. “Look at me.” Wilbur complied, reluctantly, eyes still wet and stinging as he forced himself not to cry.

“Fuck me,” he said bluntly, “please, just do it.” But he was regretting the words the second they left his mouth as a smile spread over Dream’s lips. He ran his thumb slowly along Wilbur’s bottom lip, looking at him curiously, like he hadn’t expected him to break so soon.

“Since you asked so nicely.” Dream’s other hand slid down to Wilbur's belt, slowly unbuckling it. His thumb dipped past Wilbur’s lips, becoming slick with saliva. Then he was onto the buttons of his trousers, sliding them down his legs, and they were shaking. Dream swiped his wet thumb on Wilbur’s lips, and then inserted his index and middle finger into Wilbur’s mouth, and he had to fight not to gag, tempted with the urge to bite them. But there was warning in Dream’s eyes.

Wilbur relaxed his jaw, and felt silently furious as Dream prodded and stroked the inside of his mouth, brushing the back of his throat with long fingers. He slipped his ring finger in there too, until all of them were wet. It left Wilbur feeling peculiarly violated, especially as Dream’s other handle idly touched his cock through the under-breeches he was still wearing. Dream was stroking, squeezing gently, provoking Wilbur to full arousal. It felt good, but he knew it was wrong.

Then Dream was tugging away that last layer of fabric, and pulling his fingers out of Wilbur’s mouth. Dream’s slicked hand traveled down to Wilbur’s hole, and he began unceremoniously working a finger into him. His body was resistant but Dream had no patience, and in a matter of seconds it was all the way in. Wilbur was unprepared for the foreignness of the sensation, the stretch and the pain.

Dream thrust it in and out, slowly at first and then picking up the pace enough that Wilbur whimpered. Dream slid in a second finger, and the other’s body still resisted, muscles rigid from a mix of discomfort and inexperience. Dream’s fingers were long and nimble, crooking and curling and thrusting, spreading as much as was possible with how tight Wilbur was around them.

Wilbur’s lips were parted in a silent plea, begging for the pain to stop, and for this to be over. The rest of his face was scrunched up, conflicted and overwhelmed. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes had closed once more, the tears within them dangerous close to spilling over. Everything he felt was like a faucet, pouring into an already overflowing cup.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity Dream removed his hand from Wilbur’s body. It left him panting and exhausted, but with a temporary relief. But Dream took that away.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered. Wilbur looked at him with tired eyes, but there was no sympathy in the other’s. With his dirty-blond hair and green eyes, features like a prince from a fairytale, he should have been kind, caring. But there was nothing of the sort in the gaze he returned, instead he was slathered with intention, eyes hazy with lust.

“W-what?” Wilbur asked. With one dry hand Dream tangled his fingers in Wilbur’s curly hair, tugging his head downwards.

“You heard me.” And Wilbur had, and he didn’t want to question the authority in Dream’s voice. So he found himself slowly dropping to his knees, Dream’s hand still in his hair, until he was eye-level with Dream’s crotch. He swallowed nervously, his throat suddenly feeling dry. Dream pulled his hand back, forcing Wilbur to angle his head up and meet Dream’s eyes.

“Be a good boy, and relax for me,” Dream said lowly. “Can you do that?” Wilbur nodded shakily, and watched as Dream unbuttoned his pants, pulling himself out of the fabric. He seemed bigger now, so close to Wilbur’s face than he had before, and as much as he just wanted to look away he knew what Dream was expecting him to do.

Shame burned in his cheeks as he leaned forward, placing his hands on Dream’s hips for stability. Slowly, he ran his tongue against the flesh, taking the tip of it into his mouth, instantly recoiling. But he forced himself to keep going. He relaxed his mouth, circling Dream’s tip with his tongue, refusing to look up at him as he worked. Bit by bit he tried to work himself onto Dream but he didn’t make it very far.

Dream’s hand tightened in Wilbur’s hair, tugging him down onto his cock, far more than he’d been prepared for. His face was nearly flush with Dream’s crotch as his tip hit the back of the other’s throat. He gagged, trying to pull back but Dream kept him there. Dream thrust his hips forward, ramming himself into Wilbur’s throat. Those tears finally spilled over, and he groaned in pain, sobbing around the obstruction in his mouth.

He wanted to say something, to beg Dream to stop, but all he could do suffer. As he glanced up at Dream he still saw no sympathy, only hazy eyes and a lazy smile, and he felt Dream twitching in his mouth. He pulled out part way, then pulled Wilbur back onto him, fucking his face with emphasis and letting out a self-satisfied hiss of pleasure.

“You look so pretty like this, Wilbur,” Dream purred, lightly scraping his fingers over Wilbur’s scalp. “With my cock down your throat.”  _ For freedom _ , Wilbur reminded himself,  _ this is for my country _ . Then Dream was sliding himself completely out of Wilbur’s mouth. He left him panting, throat abused, and cheeks red from an overwhelming amount of shame. Wilbur had never felt so dirty in his life as he did in that moment.

“Stand up,” Dream instructed. Wilbur obeyed, fear had his whole body shaking as he did. His anticipation was dreadful. The way Dream looked at him was terrifying, like he’d been wandering a desert for days and Wilbur was his first bit of fresh water. “Now bend over the desk.” That made him hesitate. He wasn’t sure if he could go this far, if he’d ever be able to look at himself the same.

“Will,” Dream warned, “if you want your freedom you’ll do what I say.” His friends’ faces flashed in his mind for the briefest moment, and he knew he had to do it. Every part of him was trembling but he turned around, at least grateful he didn’t have to look Dream in the eye for this. He pressed himself up against the wooden desk, the wood cold against his bare skin as he leaned over it, propping himself up on his elbows.

  
  


“I would do anything for my country,” Wilbur said, and though his words were filled with doubt it was his actions that mattered. As long as he did it, it didn’t matter that he questioned.

He heard the other’s breath hitch softly, and then he felt the tip of his length, wet and ready against his entrance. Though he tried to force himself to relax it was nearly impossible. His face was wet with tears as Dreams started forcing himself inside, meeting resistance with persistence. He slid in inch by agonizing inch, and it hurt so much worse than Wilbur thought it would.

There was no one other than Dream to hear and he barely cared, whimpering pathetically, overwhelmed by the pain and the stretch. He let out a weak cry when Dream got himself the rest of the way in, hips pressing firmly against Wilbur. He leaned over, placing his palm between Wilbur’s shoulders and pushing him face first into the desk. His other hand came up to knot in Wilbur’s hair, making sure his cheek was flat against the wood.

“How does it feel to surrender like this?” Dream asked, and Wilbur could barely think because it was the worst feeling. The pain of being filled up, taken advantage of like this, the pressure of Dream’s weight against his, the tears on his cheeks now staining the desk. It was all too much to handle. What he wouldn’t have given for it to be over…

“It  _ hurts _ ,” was all he could say. What did Dream expect to hear from him? Dream eased himself out a bit, before pushing back him harshly, making Wilbur moan.

“Well,” Dream said, repeating the motion, this time dragging out slow and snapping his hips back harshly. This time it was a whine of pain that came from Wilbur. “You deserve a little pain. You didn’t lose enough in the war, so I’ll take something you can’t get back.” Wilbur knew exactly what he meant.

“I was never innocent,” Wilbur said weakly, Dream thrust into him again.

“Oh but you were,” Dream said, voice raspy with tension, “You were innocent and naive to think you stood a chance against me. Now look where you’ve ended up.” Wilbur tried not to listen but he knew Dream was right, he’d been a fool with a goal that he pushed too far trying to achieve. And he regretted it now.

Dream thrust again, and again, and again. He did it faster, rougher, slamming Wilbur into the desk hard enough he’d be bruised for weeks. The sounds he made were desperate and pained, caught between moaning and sobbing. He wanted to be anywhere else but in his own body, and he tried to keep his eyes on the pattern of the wood grain, but it was a pathetic distraction.

  
  


Wilbur was panting and wheezing, desperate for something more than he was willing to admit. His body’s response to Dream’s onslaught had begun to transition. Though the pain was undeniable, burning, stretching, bruising, violating, there was a physical response he couldn’t seem to quell. Dream’s thrusts brought him to just the right spot inside Wilbur that made his moans high pitched and whiny.

  
  


He felt so ashamed with himself for feeling any kind of pleasure, especially as strong as this was getting. It was heat low in his body, burning, and overwhelming that got stronger with every movement of Dream’s hips. There was no thought more embarrassing than his honesty with himself, knowing that if Dream stopped before he could finish he’d find himself begging for him not to.

“ _ Dream _ ,” he keened as the other slammed into his sweet spot with a violent force. His thrusts were unbalanced, some longer and slower, some brisk and unbelievably painful, but still sparking pleasure within him. He heard Dream’s rapid panting in his ear, and soft grunts and groans of pleasure.

“You’re such a whore,” Dream said hoarsely, tugging Wilbur back by his hair so his ear was closer to Dream’s lips. “I know you’re enjoying this. I bet you would have let me do it for free.” Though the last part wasn’t true it stung, and Wilbur knew no matter how much of it was physical it was wrong to feel pleasure in a time like this.

  
  


Wilbur couldn’t bring himself to say anything in response. He just cried out at the force of Dream’s thrusts, so close to his coming undone he felt dizzy and hot. And then Dream’s pace was impossibly faster, his breathing more ragged and filled with tension, ready to snap at any moment. Wilbur found himself begging silently for release, never more thankful for anything than the fact that Dream couldn’t see his face.

The heat and tension in Wilbur’s body built to a final crescendo and then he was unraveling, spilling all over himself and the desk. He went completely limp as Dream continued to fuck him, not quite finished himself, but Wilbur’s mind was too fuzzy, delirious from the high of his climax. It barely registered when Dream finally finished, painting Wilbur’s thighs in white streaks when he pulled out.

Wilbur just laid there in a daze, his body still barely feeling like it belonged to him as he tried to process everything that had happened. It had all been too much too quickly, too much he didn’t want to remember. He was in aftershock, and though he couldn’t feel the pain now it would certainly come for him later.

Slowly, with shaky arms he pushed himself to standing, feeling sticky and unstable. Dream was standing beside him, offering him a damp cloth and no reassurance as Wilbur cleaned himself up. He redressed, feeling awkward and shaky, fumbling with buttons and sleeves after collecting his clothes from the floor. He didn’t want to be wearing these clothes anymore, he needed something clean, something untainted, but these were all he had.

When he was dressed he turned his attention to Dream, who looked bored now. He was fiddling with that knife again, watching Wilbur closely.

“What happens now?” Wilbur asked exhaustedly. He was hoping beyond hope that he’d done enough, that his country could be free and safe from Dream’s tyranny. 

Dream smiled, “I think you did good, you held up your end of the deal.” 

“Really?” Wilbur could not believe what he was finally hearing. Had he really done it? Was L’Manburg finally free? “We have independence?”

“Of course,” Dreams said, “I’m no scoundrel, I keep my word.” The feeling of relief was overwhelming. Wilbur hadn’t suffered for nothing, he and his friends could finally live in peace. And though this night would always be in the back of his mind, at least it would mean something, at least it was worth it.

“Thank you,” was all Wilbur could say.

Dream smiled, but his smile carried an intent Wilbur wasn’t expecting. He leaned in close, whispering, resting one hand on Wilbur’s waist, and squeezing just a little too hard.

“All you have to do is  _ keep _ holding your end up.” And then he stepped back, watching as Wilbur’s face went pale.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed, again i put A LOT of work into this chapter and I would really appreciate if you left a comment!

**Author's Note:**

> I’m still not sorry. Tune in for more coming soon...


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